


Midnight Snacks

by nerdistheword



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, SnowBaz, Vampirism, late night snacks and chats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 00:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17415296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdistheword/pseuds/nerdistheword
Summary: “You have your midnight snacks and I have mine. It’s no big deal.”When they wake up in the night, one wants blood and the other wants butter.





	Midnight Snacks

One night Baz wakes up and Simon is not beside him in bed, sleeping with his mouth wide open and tucked into a ball. He hears noise from outside the bedroom. Rattling? Crunching? Something is stumbling around out there, making a strange racket.

He pads into the dark kitchen (you could say it’s black at pitch) where the noise is coming from and turns on the light.

And there is Simon Snow, the love of his life, the man he wants to spend his life with, sitting on the kitchen counter with a half block of butter and a box of cinnamon sugar graham crackers in front of him. He doesn’t even seem to notice the lights have been turned on as he mechanically slices a glob of butter from the block and spreads it on a cracker with a knife.

Then, he stuffs the whole thing in his mouth, crunching in sleepy content. Baz can’t even say anything, he’s not sure if he’s dreaming or if Simon is even awake. His eyes are half closed, his shoulders slack and wings droopy. Merlyn knows how longs he been there, how many butter-graham crackers he’s eaten. Baz just stares at Simon, thinking _what the fuck_ and when Simon has chewed and swallowed he finally looks up and sees him.

“Hey Baz. Want some?” He asks, spewing crumbs along with his words.

Baz just turns the lights off and goes back to bed, because how is he in love with this heathen. He complains about Simon’s bizarre eating habits and weird midnight snacks in the morning, when Simon has butter smeared on his pajama bottoms and crumbs in his hair.

Later, Simon wakes up in the middle of the night and Baz isn’t there. But that’s normal, Baz tends to hunt at night on alley rats and any unfortunate pigeons that are too lazy to get away fast enough. He tries to go back to sleep but now that he’s awake, he’s hungry, so he ventures out to the kitchen to have a snack.

Strangely, the lights are already on and the pantry door is open. Simon then hears something shuffling about on the front porch, so he goes to investigate. Outside sitting on the steps is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, a few drained rats at his slippered feet and a half-full bag of salt and vinegar chips cradled in his lap.

Silently, Simon drops down beside him and Baz wordlessly passes him the bag. It’s automatic, Baz sharing food with Simon. Simon never stops appreciating it. He munches on a handful of Baz’s favorite chips under the night sky.

Baz nudges one of the empty rodents with his foot and sneers, but it’s tired and maybe a little ashamed. “I guess I don’t really have room to insult your eating habits, do I?”

Simon shrugs and then leans against Baz with a yawn. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Baz glances at him, his devastatingly handsome boyfriend with starlight gleaming in his bronze hair. “You really think that, don’t you?”

Simon smiles genuinely, his lips coated in oily salt from the chips. “Yeah.”

He offers the chips to Baz, who takes a few and chews on them thoughtfully. He finds himself easily leaning on Simon as well, their shoulders supporting each other.

“You have your midnight snacks and I have mine. It’s no big deal.” Simon adds, and smiles again at Baz, who, thanks to the blood he just drank, is blushing a little. His grey eyes are especially pretty at night, and Simon adores when he has the unruly bedhead like he does now.

Baz takes the hand Simon isn’t using to eat and holds it firmly in his, and Simon rests his head on his shoulder. His messy curls tickle Baz’s neck.

“You know what?” Simon says after a while of them just sitting on their front stoop in the moonlight with a bag of chips and a bunch of dead vermin.

“What, love?” Baz is feeling warm, and loved, and stupidly happy.

Simon shakes the chip bag, crinkling the plastic. “These would be even better with butter.”


End file.
